


A Court of Ghosts and Light

by SixthNight



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Adventure, Depression, Eventual Romance, F/M, Healing, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24205144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixthNight/pseuds/SixthNight
Summary: After the war, Tamlin has allowed his court to continue to fall into disrepair. A brief run-in with Rhysand spurs a conversation long overdue with Lucien, shedding light on Tamlin's truth at last. When the Summer Court arrives to lend aid, things begin to shift for the Lord of Spring.
Relationships: Elain Archeron & Lucien Vanserra
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	A Court of Ghosts and Light

**Author's Note:**

> It never sat right with me, that first conversation in ACOFAS between Rhys and Tamlin. For Rhys to be sainted despite his own flaws, for him to be so unnecessarily harsh due to his grudges. And there are frankly some holes in Tamlin's character that I wanted explanation for, so I began to write that explanation myself. Yes, he's done some abhorrent things and I'm not excusing them. But then again, it seems to me that each character in this series is capable of harmful, sometimes abusive behavior. I won't vilify Feyre or Rhys in the process as I do love both characters, I just felt like I wanted to know more from other perspectives. This led me to what you're about to read. I have big plans for this one, so I'd love to hear thoughts and input in the reviews! :)

Tamlin sat at the desk, the tips of his fingers pressed together in a tent, and stared at the empty chair where Rhysand had been just a moment ago. His parting words had felt like a blade through the gut. Rage had boiled up, sure, but it quickly subsided to what might’ve looked to Rhysand like indifference. But in place of that once room-shattering rage sat only depthless agony.

It seemed to him that not a soul in this dark realm could grasp what should have been so staggeringly clear. This past year, he’d only sought to save, to protect, to undermine an enemy by infiltrating its ranks. Rhysand, more than any, should have seen it. After all, he’d revealed his own infiltration of _her_ court not long ago.

Hours slipped by, still Tamlin sat and stared, as if rooted to the chair beneath him. It wasn’t until Lucien returned from his hunt and appeared in the doorway that Tamlin tore his gaze from that chair.

“Is… are you well?” Lucien asked, hesitant.

“I’ve had a visitor from the Night Court,” is all he offered.

Surprise snaked its way through Lucien’s features. “Who?”

“Rhysand.”

A strangled sound escaped Lucien before he asked, “And what did he want?”

“To make it known that he still holds a grudge. To gloat. To manage what I do or don’t do with my borders.”

In the space of a moment, it seemed as though Lucien was assessing, wondering about the calmness in the room. Before he could ask about it, Tamlin rose from the chair and stalked past the red-haired male. Tamlin could practically hear the wheels of Lucien’s mind turning as he pivoted to follow along.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Lucien ventured.

Tamlin just kept striding for the kitchens.

A large buck, frozen in the grasp of death, occupied the work table at the center of the room meant for preparing kills. Tamlin let out a sigh and moved around to grab gloves, readying to do the work himself.

“I can take care of this,” Lucien offered.

Though the idea of having to carve the animal up gave Tamlin pause, he needed to do something with his hands. Anything to drive the thoughts from his mind. Even if he was sick of gore, of death, of all of it, he wanted the mindlessness of the task. So he motioned to the tools and told Lucien, “We can do it together.”

Long minutes passed with only the sound of their work to keep them company when Tamlin finally spoke. A great breath whooshed from him as he started. “I—I’m growing tired of my own thoughts. Of being trapped in this dark place alone.”

Lucien shifted on his feet, as if he didn’t want to say the wrong thing to stop any further opening up. “We can find someone to help restore the manor house.”

“I don’t mean the house.”

There was a stretching silence yawning awake, tension snapping into place across the table. Torn between sharing just to be rid of the thoughts and keeping Lucien at arm’s length, Tamlin waited for any hint that he should continue.

Lucien set the tools down and finally met Tamlin’s gaze. “I know it might not be easy for you to share, but when you’re ready, I’d like to hear your side. No one knew that Rhysand was acting all this time, the threat against Feyre, the lengths you went to to get her back from his clutches… I understand it. You thought her mind was being exploited. You couldn’t have known. Couldn’t have seen Ianthe’s scheming either. I know you planned to double-cross Hybern. But there are some things that don’t make sense.” Lucien paused as though trying to sort through his thoughts. He wiped gloved hands on the leather apron he’d thrown on for the work. “The anger and trapping her here, clearly not the right way to handle your need to protect what you love. But that aside, why didn’t you move to help her Under the Mountain? And after?”

Tamlin cleared his throat and stripped off his gloves, tossing them down on the table with their half-completed task. With this conversation springing up, he didn’t need the work anymore. Magic could do the rest and he let it finish carving the kill. Lucien watched absently.

Tamlin washed up and stalked for the sitting room without a word, leaving Lucien to follow suit. The sun had gone down, leaving a brisk spring chill in its wake. Half a thought from the Autumn Court male sent flames stirring in the hearth. Tamlin took a seat on a chair that had seen better days allowing Lucien a seat that was in mildly better shape.

“Talk to me,” Lucien pleaded. “We’ve been friends for ages. You can trust me.”

“You’ve been living with _them_.”

And there it was, the elephant in the room. Lucien could possibly be trusted, but with his mate at the Night Court and a member of its family, Tamlin was hesitant to open up. It was hard enough to sort through the mess of his thoughts without that to contend with.

Lucien seemed to wear his shame openly, “I didn’t want to abandon you. But the bond…”

Another lengthy pause stretched between them. Tamlin leaned against the arm of the chair, the wood groaning in response, and propped his jaw on the heel of his palm with a sigh. So much in their world was out of control. And he was sick of feeling that he had none. Sick of bottling everything up tightly. His chest was near bursting with the full weight of it all.

"Lucien…" he began, trying to come up with the words. Words to try and lighten the weight. "I should have told you when we returned, but I was being consumed by grief. By terror."

“Told me what?”

“When we were… Under the Mountain, _she_ kept me in a cell not far from Feyre’s.”

Lucien’s eyes rounded with surprise, “But I saw you there on the dais each day.”

“A glamour over one of her cronies.”

Understanding flooded Lucien’s face. “That’s why you never acted. I couldn’t fathom how you would watch everything that happened and not snap.”

“Not exactly in my nature, is it?” He asked wryly, almost smirking.

Lucien snorted a little and stared into the dancing flames of the fire.

Tamlin continued, “I was there some of the time. But mostly, she kept me in a cell and she tortured me with details of the trials… among other things.” He paused, recalling the way it had wrecked him to be so out of control, unable to protect anyone. How he’d suffered at the hands of his enemy without telling a soul. The hours spent roaring at the walls, silenced by invisible hands. He sat for a moment, gathering the strength to continue his story. Now that he'd started, it was like the breaking of a dam. It all fought to rush out, to be freed. “Since Rhysand had taken to getting Feyre intoxicated and making her dance like his plaything, I think she wanted me to see that once… before it ended. So she let me out on the eve of the third trial. I—I couldn’t control myself and I went to Feyre. We were… interrupted. The next day, well, you know what happened.”

Lucien nodded, finally glancing to Tamlin, “I should have known. Should have sensed you down there.”

“She warded the cell, hid me well. It’s not your fault.”

“But I should have known that things were out of character for you. That you’d never sit by and watch the woman you loved, that you would have sacrificed everything to protect, be tortured without acting. Without at least attempting to stop it, no matter the cost. I mean you no offense, but you’re not exactly the type to quell your fury that thoroughly.”

A bitter laugh fled Tamlin’s lips. “You know me well, old friend.”

“So why not tell her? Tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to. I was wrecked with guilt, with shame from being powerless to stop any of it and not even being present to try. _She_ got the best of me _again_. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“So you let the shame keep us at arm’s length,” Lucien mused.

“I didn’t want either of you to view me as though I was unable to protect her. _Weak_ ,” the word hung in between them.

“Tam, no one would have thought that.”

“I think Feyre did. I think, now that I’ve had time to process the fact that she wasn’t under Rhysand’s control all that time, that she saw all he did to save her and how much I didn’t do. And I think it broke what was between us. Perhaps more than my anger.”

Lucien leaned forward, clasping his hands, “Something has always bothered me though.”

Tamlin shifted to catch his glance, “Hm?”

“You didn’t help Under the Mountain and now I know why—“ he wrung his hands and continued “—but after… you let her fall deeper into despair. Anyone could see she was wasting away. But the same can be said in the opposite. You were also wasting away. Maybe not physically like she was, but internally. The madness that possessed you… I should have seen that it was grief and shame eating away at you. Feyre must have seen it. And she did nothing to help you, either.”

Tamlin leaned back in the chair, stretching a bit as he considered. “You’ve a fair point. Two broken immortals with all the time in the world to fix things, yet we sat idly by and let things go to shit. Let the brokenness remain and turn into a cave of darkness, swallowing anything else that may have been between us. Until I snapped entirely…”

Lucien clicked his tongue and rose to pace. “The shattering of the study can’t be excused—“

Tamlin huffed an interruption, “I know.”

“—But neither of you made any move to help the other heal. And my feeble attempts… I could have—should have done better by you.”

“Again, it’s not your fault Lucien.”

“But I could have made a difference.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You couldn’t have. They’re mated. No one has any control over that fact.”

Lucien nodded, as if affirming the outright unbalanced eddying of the Cauldron in such matters. “So why not make all of this known now? Surely it’s been long enough. It could go a ways to smooth over relations between your courts.”

“Do you really think Rhysand will understand? Will believe me?”

“He just might. He knows the extent of her madness perhaps better than anyone else. Why shouldn’t he believe you were kept prisoner? And furthermore, where Hybern is concerned, he did exactly the same with Amarantha. Fooled us all into believing him to be her lover and ally. If he can’t believe that you sought a false alliance with the King, then it is his error. You saved his mate and you saved him in the end. I think you’ve paid your dues.”

The name, _her_ name clanged through Tamlin like a knife ricocheting in a tight space. For a moment, he felt the walls closing in again, the old hurt reopening in his chest. Lucien ceased his pacing, coming up to place a hand on Tamlin’s shoulder.

“I’ll tell them. I’ll make them believe.”

“It’s not your fight, Lucien.” He was thankful, but unwilling to put his friend in the middle of this. He hung his head, resigning to the fate he’d been dealt.

“You can’t give up. You can’t let Amarantha and the King win even in death.”

“They already have.”

And it was enough. He’d shared more than he ever expected to this eve and it was enough. He simply rose from the chair, returned the gesture with a hand briefly on Lucien’s shoulder, and retired to his room. 

Had he known the ripples this conversation would create, he might have just stayed silent. Might have let the words die on his tongue. But they had been let out into the world and they would bring changes he did not see coming.

* * *

_**And here it is. This is just the brief introduction. I will try to update weekly. Let me know how I did with this one!** _

* * *


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